The path’s marriage joined at the doorway
Where the past arrives carrying heavy
Quilted bags
While the future holds reservation
Standing stark naked.
The enormous wooden door hangs
On three brass hinges that are unlike.
Yet, serve the same motion -
Close to open; open to close
An infinite conundrum.
The delicate frame surrounds the door
But cannot contain it.
Nor refrain any shadow that may appear
Whether wearing white silks of promise
Or the black shrouds of regret.
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